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Chaper One

Sawyer “Bones” Abbott

My phone rang as I lay on the couch trying to take a damn nap. It was hot as fuck in my bedroom, so I couldn’t get comfortable in there, even with the fan on me so I moved to the couch.

My old air-conditioning unit was working overtime, so I closed the vent and the door and directed the semi-cool air into the living room and kitchen. What the hell did I expect? September in southern Nevada was like the third circle of hell.

It had been over one hundred degrees for the last forty days, which wasn’t unusual in the desert. Not a drop of rain had touched the scorched desert floor since mid-June, which always ramped up aggression among my guys and the customers at our places of business. Along the West Coast, it was fire season, but in Vegas, it was fire temper season.

“Yeah?” I didn’t open my eyes to see who was calling, not excited to talk to anyone.

“Prez? It’s me, man.”

“Ders? What’s up now ?”

The previous night, there’d been an issue at one of our Cowpokes brothels in Pahrump. An out-of-towner had gotten carried away and roughed up one of our girls… badly.

Derson Lynn—my road captain in the Pahrump Steel Cowboys Motorcycle Club—and I had been called over to the house on East Adkisson by the house mother. Miriam Rey, the club member who was guarding the house during business hours to ensure everyone played nicely, had left early because she wasn’t feeling well.

Miri hadn’t called to let us know so we could send someone else because the house was closing at midnight and she thought everybody would be fine. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

The son of a bitch who’d harmed Emily was gone by the time we got there. The doctor we had on retainer, Dr. Emmett Rains, was already there and looking Emily over when we arrived.

Dr. Rains was a decent guy. He did our Sunday health checks to ensure our guys and girls were safe for work, as required by Nevada state law. Doc told us Emily had a broken nose, bruised or fractured ribs—he couldn’t be sure without X-rays, which Emily had refused to go get—and a torn anus.

I wanted to hunt the fucking abuser down and do the same to him, and after I was through with him, the guy would never raise a hand to anyone again. Emily said it wasn’t worth worrying about because the man was gone, and he wouldn’t come back.

“I didn’t know him at all,” she’d said, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze, so I had a hard time believing her. She began to cry when I tried to press her for anything the guy said, so I backed off.

I couldn’t stop fixating on whether the man who assaulted her was someone she’d entertained at Cowpokes who’d promised her the high life or was he someone she’d entertained somewhere other than our house, which was completely against the rules.

Repeat customers would come and go, sometimes promising things they’d never deliver to our employees. I hated it when the lie was exposed and the john never returned. The workers were devastated, and we were left picking up the pieces.

The guy had presented an ID to Bess Carroll so he could get into the house, but Bess thought it looked weird, and with Miri gone, she had nobody to verify something was off. At Emily’s urging, Bess let him in anyway.

When Bess had booked the reservation earlier in the evening, she’d checked with Emily, who agreed to take the late-night appointment and seemed excited about it. “I told him the appointment would only be for thirty minutes since he couldn’t get here before eleven thirty, and he said it was fine. I figured he probably had a hair trigger and they’d spend the other twenty-eight minutes talking,” Bess, who was the epitome of a strict mother figure, had told me. Under any other circumstances, I’d have laughed my ass off at her assessment.

We had cameras every-fucking-where, and we had a computer guy who had access to facial recognition software—though probably not legally. We’d find the motherfucker, and he’d pay for his treatment of Emily.

“I talked to Mouse. He says the bastard’s ID was fake, like Bess thought, but he was able to find the guy. He’s stayin’ at the Skylark Lodge and Truck Stop on 160 not far from the house. He found the guy walking back from East Adkisson and traced the license plate number of the red Peterbilt he climbed into. If he owns the truck, he lives in Barstow. Over the road driver. Hobie and Spider are chompin’ the bit to go pick him up.”

Hobie Richards did double duty at the club: treasurer and enforcer. Spider Remmick had been moved up to be my vice president about a year ago. He’d been the sergeant at arms when I returned to the club from the Army. Spider had been patched into the club under my father’s presidency, and I trusted him because he was loyal.

We had two spots on the executive board that were currently empty, and there was a lot of pressure to fill those spots with one of the old-timers who’d already served as an officer of the club. I was still thinking about it. The four of them weren’t all bad.

All my club brothers and sisters were family, and we had each other’s backs regardless of the circumstance. We also took care of our employees. If one of them had been harmed, we took it very seriously.

“Who’s the john?” I stood from the couch, giving up on a nap.

There was business to handle, and the guy would be lucky if he survived the beating my guys planned to give him. He touched one of our people, and he would be a lesson to the world not to lay a finger on those who were friends and family of the Steel Cowboys.

“If the guy owns the truck, his name’s Charles Smith. According to Mouse, he’s scheduled to pick up a load going to New Orleans this afternoon for Sans Truck Lines. How you wanna handle it?” Ders sounded eager, which didn’t surprise me at all.

I checked the clock to see it was just about lunchtime. “Meet me at The Roundup. I’m hungry. You got the address for the terminal where he’s picking up? There are about ten of them out there, and I don’t wanna go to the wrong warehouse and miss him.”

“Sure. You wanna pick him up at the Skylark instead?”

“Let’s get him at the terminal. Those folks at the Skylark don’t deserve to have to clean up the mess I’m planning to make. I’ll see you in thirty.”

We ended the call, and I went to the bathroom to turn on the shower. I set it for cold and walked over to the mirror to check the bags under my eyes. Thirty-five was killing me.

Once I was dressed, I went to my truck and drove along the gravel road to the clubhouse up the hill, with The Roundup just outside our security fence near the road. A few of my brothers were there, along with some of the older members who had nothing else to do. I pulled in front of the clubhouse to grab Hobie, who lived upstairs since his last old lady kicked him out.

Dean “Tiny” Granger, one of our prospects, came over to the truck, so I rolled down the window. “Prez. What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Tiny. Will you tell Hobie we’ve got someplace to be and to hurry the hell up.” He nodded before he rushed inside the clubhouse.

Tiny was a beast of a kid with a huge heart who I’d met when he applied for a job at The Roundup. He was a hard worker, and the kid could lift a damn refrigerator, so I offered him a job at the restaurant as a busboy and dishwasher to help Arlo, our chaplain and cook, and Gilly, the server who worked there.

When Tiny told me he didn’t have an address for the application because his folks had kicked him out of their house when he brought home a boyfriend to meet them, he didn’t hang his head when he said it. I was damn proud of the kid for living his truth, so I didn’t hesitate to invite him to prospect with the Cowboys and offered him one of the empty bedrooms we had on the second floor of the clubhouse or at The Roundup so he had a place to live instead of couch surfing with friends.

That was a year ago. The boyfriend broke up with him because he didn’t agree with Tiny being involved with a motorcycle club. It was probably for the best. Unbeknownst to Tiny, we were going to patch him into the club this October. He had a new family now. The ex-boyfriend could go fuck himself.

A couple of minutes later, Hobie came outside with a brown bag and a paper cup with a lid. “Bones, here’s some coffee. I got Arlo to make you a biscuit sandwich since Gilly’s handling the lunch shift at the restaurant. You get any sleep?”

I laughed as I started the truck and shifted into Drive. I followed Gravel Pit Road to NV-160 headed for the industrial park. We had an asshole to deal with, and I wasn’t going to be kind.

Hobie and I sat in my truck across from a red Peterbilt tractor-trailer parked at a loading dock at the back of Sans Truck Lines. “Looks like the crews are taking a break.”

“Yeah, I see the forklift near the door, so they haven’t started loading in, yet.” Hobie scrolled through his phone for a second before touching a contact.

“Hobie, what’s up?” It was Mouse, our tech guy.

“Any changes to the schedule for loading Charles Smith’s rig?”

“Uh…” I could hear his fingers pecking away on the keyboard he never seemed to leave. We’d put Mouse up in one of the rooms over The Roundup so he could work without too much distraction. The kid was twenty-three and had gone to UNLV for a degree and he’d graduated with honors.

Mouse was the smartest guy in the club, and the humblest. We all looked out for him because he was on the small side, but he’d made a big impact on the way the club operated, putting us in the black in a hurry when he joined us. We were all grateful.

Two years ago, Mouse came into the restaurant on a cold call, hoping to design a website for The Roundup, which was really a joke. The place wasn’t five-star, but it gave us cover to get deliveries, so we opened it. It did a decent business, being close to the highway.

When Arlo sat down with the kid and listened to him, he quickly figured out Mouse could help modernize our operation, so he brought the kid to my attention. We hired him without even doing a background check. It was the best decision we’d ever made.

The kid was a wizard with all things tech, even taking on the books—legal and less than—for the club. In addition to beefing up security at all our businesses and the clubhouse, he had a little bit of a hacker in him and was able to find out information we needed in a hurry to get the most bang for our buck in business deals. He promised us nothing would be tied back to the club, and he was yet to break his promise.

“Mouse, you still there?” It was awfully quiet at the other end of the line.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just getting into the mainframe for Sans. Here he is. His truck is logged to be filled by two this afternoon. He’s due in New Orleans by Thursday.”

Hobie chuckled. “I doubt he’s gonna make that.”

I glanced up to see a guy headed toward the cab of the semi. He hopped on the step and pulled out a massive keyring fit for a janitor. “Think that’s him?” Hobie reached behind the truck seat and pulled out a baseball bat I kept handy.

“One way to find out. Mouse, check the security cameras on the back side of the terminal to see if they’re online.” It would still be worth it even if we got caught, but I liked to know the odds.

After a few keystrokes, Mouse responded. “Going from left to right across the eight loading docks, cameras one, five, six, and eight don’t work. The truck’s red, right?”

“Fire engine.”

I glanced along the back of the building seeing that dock one was empty. There was a yellow custom truck backed between docks two and three. Four was empty. Our guy was backed up to five. The other three were empty.

“Can’t see it. Stay out of the way of cameras four and seven.”

“Thanks, Mouse. See you in a bit.” Hobie ended the call and shoved his phone in his pocket.

He pulled out a blade, but I put my hand on his wrist. “We’re not going to kill him. We should have brought Tiny. I’d like to see what the guy can do in a situation like this. I’ll put it before the executive board that, when we patch him in, we bring him on as an enforcer but restrict his vote for a year. Since Noah defected to the fucking Scorpions, the goddamn traitor, the spot’s been open. We need someone to help replace you as an enforcer so you can do your job as treasurer and have time to find investments for the club.”

Hobie chuckled and raised an eyebrow at me. “Prez, I think we’ve got this.” I smirked and held up my fist to bump his. Yeah, we definitely had it.

We watched the guy hop out of the large sleeper cab truck, not bothering to lock the door before hopping up on the dock and going inside. There were no workers in the doorway, so Hobie and I exited mine and moved across the parking lot.

I went to the driver’s side and climbed up, sliding inside before I reached over to open the locked passenger door. I slipped into the sleeper part of the large cab while Hobie climbed inside and sat in the passenger seat.

We both looked around, Hobie settling the wooden bat on the right side where Smith wouldn’t see it when he got into the cab. “Should we do this here or take him somewhere else?” Hobie had that glint in his eyes that meant trouble.

“We take him somewhere else, and it’s kidnapping. Let’s not tempt fate.” I reached for the top sheet on the bed where I was sitting, and I pulled it off, tying a knot in the middle of it to immobilize Smith while Hobie played home run king.

I looked at the pictures Smith had tacked to the walls of the sleeper cab. “Looks like Smith has a wife and a couple of kids. Get Mouse to send you still shots from the hospitality bar at the house where he picked up Emily. That can be a threat to get him never to come back to East Adkisson—in case breaking his fucking ribs doesn’t work.”

Hobie texted Mouse as I pulled down a picture of a pretty woman lying in a hospital bed, holding a baby wearing a pink hat with a bow in a blue, pink, and white blanket. I handed it to Hobie. “Put it on the steering wheel so he sees it when he gets in.”

Hobie reached over to do just that, glancing out the driver’s side window. “Here he comes from the back.”

I slid further into the sleeper compartment so I wasn’t easily seen when the asshole got inside. Hobie sat back, bat hidden by his side. When the door opened, Smith tossed a logbook into the seat and climbed up. He was fucking with his sunglasses as he got in and didn’t clock Hobie as he settled his ass in the driver’s seat.

I looped the sheet over his chest and tugged it tight behind the seat so the fucker couldn’t move his arms or get out of the truck. Hobie cracked the fucker in the gut as I scooted closer and whispered in his ear.

“You beat up my friend who didn’t do anything to you. Now what do you think we should do about this shit?” I pulled the sheet tighter.

“I think we should break his fucking nose like he did to Emily.” Hobie glanced at me, and I nodded.

He closed his right fist and swung around, busting the fucker’s nose. The crunch was satisfying to hear, and I wasn’t surprised to see my friend still had a deadly southpaw.

Blood splattered everywhere, some even hitting the picture of the asshole’s family, but he couldn’t move his arms because of the sheet. It took all my restraint not to move the knot up to his neck and fucking strangle him with it.

“You son of a bitch! You got nothing on me! She’s my sidepiece. She likes it rough.”

Hobie glanced at me, pointing to the bat next to him. “Yeah.”

The bat met the asshole’s gut again with a crunch that made me smile. More blood poured out of his nose.

I leaned forward and got into his ear. “You ever fucking show yourself in this part of Nevada again, and you’ll get a free ride out to the desert. At night. Blindfolded. Naked. You feel me, asshole?”

“I’ve been seeing her for a few months, and she said it was okay to get rough. She wanted me to hurt her. I paid extra for it.” He was crying now, and I wanted to snap his fucking neck.

I was fuming. “You get that rough with your wife? The mother of your little girl let you break her nose and ribs when you fuck her up the ass like you did to Emily? Maybe I’ll call your wife and ask her. You hurt my employee, and she won’t be working for a few weeks. You know what that means? You fucking owe me money.”

Hobie kept poking the asshole with the fat end of the bat. The guy squirmed to get away, but I was holding him tight.

Smith started bawling. “Please, please, don’t tell my wife. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want. I just got paid for this haul, so I’ll give you what I have.”

I glanced at Hobie who shrugged. “Pays the doc’s bill and makes up for what Em won’t make until she’s able to get back to work.”

Smith nodded to the glove box. “Open it.” Hobie opened it and started to reach for a thick manila envelope. I touched his arm to stop him.

I loosened the sheet and slid to my right. “You reach inside and give us the money.” We should have fucking worn gloves, but I wasn’t thinking straight when we left the clubhouse.

Smith did as I said, tossing the envelope onto Hobie’s lap. I adjusted the knot to Smith’s throat and choked him out before I reached for the envelope with the end of the sheet.

I grabbed the pillowcase and handed it to Hobie. “Wipe your seat down. From now on, we carry fucking rubber gloves with us when we go out for shit like this.”

I opened the clasp and dumped the contents in Hobie’s lap. “Damn! That’s a fat stack. What the fuck is he doing with that much cash?” There were ten straps of twenties equaling ten grand.

Hobie’s eyes grew to the size of silver dollars. “How much should we take?”

“Take half and leave the rest on the seat. He’s got a kid. He’s a dumbass and a scumbag, but he’ll need the rest of that money for his own hospital bills.”

Before the truck driver regained consciousness, Hobie and I got out of the truck and stayed out of the cameras’ views, running like hell to my truck before heading out. I doubted that fucker would forget this day for the rest of his life, but there was one question nagging me…

What the hell was he doing with ten thousand dollars in cash?

I called Bess Carroll, the house mother at East Adkisson. “Bones? What can I do for you?”

“Let’s talk about Emily Carter. Charles Smith says she was his sidepiece and he paid her to rough her up. Is that true? Has the guy been there before and you didn’t know or didn’t record it, the two of you splitting the money, or is she sneaking out to meet him and putting herself and her customers in jeopardy? If she is, she’s gone.”

I was fuming. We had rules against that shit. Nobody hit our employees, and if she invited him to brutalize her, we had a problem.

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer, Bones. How you’d think I’d hide money from you… I can’t talk right now. Let me get the phone to her.”

Yeah, I was an asshole for saying it. Bess had always been loyal.

“Bess, wait. I’m sorry! What do you know? Was that guy her boyfriend, and if he was, what does she know about him?”

It was her job to know who our employees spent time with, but if our employees were making secret deals with the clients, I was going to put a stop to it. Bess couldn’t follow them around all the time.

The relationships we built with our workers were ones of trust… both ways. If there wasn’t trust, we shouldn’t continue to work together.

“You’d better be, young man. You know me better than to think I’d ever take a penny from these—shame on you, Sawyer. Emily is very secretive about what she does when she’s not here, and she’s usually only gone for a few hours at a time. She’s one of our top earners, and I’ve always thought that if she played by the rules, there was no harm done to her having some time to herself. I’m sorry if I made a mistake.”

“Please just talk to her. If she’s into rough stuff, then we can’t have her working for us. I don’t want to send a message through the houses that it’s expected for our employees to do things they don’t want to so they can keep earning like their coworkers. Please let me know what she says.”

I wasn’t threatening Bess. I was reminding her that she had a job to do. I wouldn’t hold other people’s actions against her. She’d worked for the organization since my father was the president, but she was responsible for the employees under her watch.

Bess sighed. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow, Bones. She’s a good girl, though she’s had a rough life. Don’t write her off yet, please.”

I sighed. “Okay, Bess. Let me know.”

I hung up and turned to Hobie. “Stay on this. I’m not sold this is a one-off that this guy showed up and happened to hurt her. Either she knows him from somewhere else, or someone else sent him to her. Talk to Florence and Mina. See if this shit happens at North Woodchips, too.”

Hobie nodded. Sometimes shit went south, as we all knew. It was my job to ensure it didn’t happen very often, and it didn’t touch the rest of our people.

“Talk to Mouse and see if he can find out what that guy was hauling? If he’s being paid off the books, I wanna know what Sans Truck Lines has going on.” As they always say, follow the money…